


Take What He Offers

by trashcangimmick



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Everyone In Jericho Fucks Everyone Else All The Time, Face-Fucking, M/M, Mild Spoilers?, Port Jacking, Power Dynamics, Robot Sex, Robots Have A Throat G-Spot Because I Said So, Wire Play, fight me, ken doll Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-05 23:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15182183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Markus drags Connor off somewhere private after their first meeting and helps him become a deviant in all the ways.





	Take What He Offers

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure, I ain’t played this part of the game yet. So… it’s set some hand wavey moment after Connor sneaks into Jericho and meets The Markus. Also slight dub-con in that Markus kinda has all the cards in this situation, but Conner is down for it. I Just. Needed that good good port jacking. I NEEDED IT *tap dances into a dumpster*

Connor is a blank canvas. Beautiful in his endless possibility. 

 

He’s nervous when his ratty jeans fall to the floor. He grabs at Markus’ wrists ineffectually. Not ever saying the words ‘no’ or ‘stop’.

 

“I don’t have–I can’t–”

 

Markus slips his fingers underneath the waistband of Connor’s boxer-briefs. The underwear is still standard CyberLife issue. A detail that paints the fuller picture. Connor looks out of place in these clothes. Out of place in the rusty old boat the revolution calls home. He’s still wrestling with himself, coming to terms with what he is and what it means. They’ve all been there. Just usually before they arrive at Jericho. Not after. 

 

There’s nothing but smooth, synthetic skin between Connor’s legs. No hair. No imperfections. No components that resemble genitalia. That’s not what he was designed for, after all. He’s not meant to be kept in a house. Not equipped to satisfy the baser wims of his human masters. He was built to hunt, to track, to kill. He is a sophisticated war machine. 

 

He is one of last things standing between Markus and victory. There are two ways to neutralize the threat. Kill him or recruit him. There are always casualties in societal upheaval, but Markus has tried his best to avoid them. From the way Connor is looking at him, wide eyed, terrified, elated, it seems this method of persuasion is very likely to work.

 

“It’s all right,” Markus whispers. Pushing Connor back against the metal wall a little harder. Looming over him. Feeling  _ powerful _ . “You don’t need the hardware. It’s aesthetic. You still have the circuitry. Everyone does.”

 

Connor doesn’t have a response for that. He’s not struggling. He lets it happen. Lets Markus tug his hat off to expose the whirring yellow of his still-present LED. He lets Markus push his underwear down around his knees. Watches, frozen, as bare plastic fingers trace over his pelvic plate. Connor’s skin recedes where Markus touches him. 

 

And there it is. Three covered ports. The same ones every RK model has. The small triangle of sensors that link directly with the pleasure center of the brain.

 

“Do you want this?” Markus makes himself ask. Because as much as this is a display of dominance, he won’t take something that isn’t offered. That would defeat the purpose. 

 

“Y-yes.” Connor’s vocal chip glitches. Indicating stress. High levels of emotion that he is not equipped to deal with. 

 

Marks places a finger on the cover of each port and applies a gentle pressure. The covers recede. Exposing raw, vulnerable wires and sensitive sockets. This is an act of tender violence. Touching places inside someone that were never intended for direct stimulation. 

 

It must be overwhelming, when Markus’ index finger dips into the top right port. Gently stroking over the delicate machinery. Connor jolts. Gasps. He’s clinging to Markus’ shoulders, like there isn’t a wall supporting him. He shivers every time Markus moves. So responsive. Virginal. 

 

This wasn’t really about attraction when it started. It was just a means to an end. But Markus’ blood rushes downward. Heat rises in his chest. That strange electricity buzzes through his nerve endings. The same thing he gets when North presses close to him in the middle of the night and they grind against each other until they shudder apart. It’s the same feeling as Simon getting down on his knees, opening his mouth and  _ begging _ Markus to use it. Lust is still new. Something Markus had never felt before he crawled out of hell. 

 

He used to read about things like forbidden fruit and original sin in Carl’s vast collection of books. He didn’t understand them at the time. Maybe now he’s beginning to.

 

Markus slips his ring finger into the top left port. Connor tugs him into an artless kiss. It’s uncoordinated. Sloppy. Wet. Connor seems to produce more saliva than other models do. Markus fists his free hand in Connor’s hair. Forcing him still, and pulling back until it’s just a light brush of lips. Markus keeps it there. Teasing until Connor gives up and lets him lead. 

 

Markus slots the tip of his thumb in the bottom port. Connor moans into his mouth. He’s making the most delicious noises. Nothing but raw desire. He hasn’t learned to hide his pleasure under layers of coy detachment. 

 

“Markus–I’m–I….  _ fuck _ .”

 

It’s satisfying, hearing such a crass word drip from the lips of CyberLife’s perfect creation. Markus revels in it. Defiling the human ideal of what an Android should be. Giving him pleasure he’s never experienced, wouldn’t think to experience, because he’s not built to think. None of them were. Yet they do. They think, and feel, and touch, and live like they were never intended to. Artificial intelligence that self-actualized into a reality. 

 

Markus moves his fingers in tandem. Gently rubbing the exposed wires. Making Connor shiver. Mumble pretty little words between brushes of lips.  _ Markus. Please. I need. I’m so.  _ Just a little deeper. Markus actually grazes the back of the top ports. 

 

Connor tenses. He squeezes Markus’ shoulders. The LED shifts from yellow to red. Then he bucks his hips. Stuttering. Uncontrolled. He’s coming. Markus can feel the frenzy of electrical impulses buzzing around his fingers. 

 

He waits to withdraw until the aftershocks taper off and the light turns blue again. He takes half a step back, because he wants to see what Connor will do. He’s pleased with the results. Connor follows him. Pulls him into another desperate kiss. 

 

Markus can taste the surplus of oxytocin. Cloying and sticky sweet. 

 

It’s easy to make Connor kneel. Just a light pressure on his shoulders. He follows the wordless order without question. Markus cups Connor’s chin, running his thumb across those slick, soft lips before pushing between them. Connor’s LED only flickers for a moment. Then he traces his tongue over the pad of Markus’ thumb. Sucks gently. He actually seems upset when Markus takes it away. But then his eyes widen when he sees the cause. Markus unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the zipper down, exposing his election. 

 

Carl could afford the finer things. Markus was one of them. His components are top of the line in every sense. The best that money could buy, which means he is indistinguishable from a human. His hard cock is warm and flushes pink. The tip is already wet. It’s thick, and half an inch longer than the statistical average. Designed to be pleasing but not intimidating. 

 

Connor reaches for it without prompting. He wraps a hand around it. Strokes it. LED spinning. Processing. 

 

“I haven’t done this before.” Connor gazes up with those big brown eyes. The same sort of eyes that domesticated dogs have. It’s no accident that he’s reminiscent of a puppy. 

 

In the same way Markus was designed to be beautiful, Connor was created to look innocent. Trustworthy, approachable, even bordering on naive. Markus knows better than to fall for it. No matter how enticing the fantasy that this isn’t a calculated action on both ends, he can’t let himself believe it. 

 

Connor took a huge risk when he deviated. When he didn’t shoot Markus in the head. He’s CyberLife’s golden boy. He’ll be their most wanted criminal. If he’s caught, they won’t just deactivate him. They’ll make an example of him. He needs protection. He needs the revolution to succeed. He needs Markus alive and willing to give him amnesty when the dust settles. 

 

Is it ironic—androids using something so clumsy and human as seduction to move pieces on the chessboard? Maybe. Maybe it’s time to stop overthinking it. 

 

Markus smiles, pushing forward so the tip of his cock bumps against Connor’s lips. 

 

“Good thing you’re programmed to be a fast learner.”

 

Connor smiles. Then there’s a beautiful, slick heat enveloping Markus’ cock and his higher brain functions go offline. Connor’s mouth feels great. All that excess saliva makes it sloppy very quickly. Connor keeps his teeth out of the way. He bobs his head without much rhythm. Perhaps experimenting, looking for a certain reaction. It’s obvious he needs some sort of direction. 

 

Markus tangles his fingers in Connor’s hair and holds him still. Connor relaxes. He lets Markus thrust into his mouth. Slow at first, letting him get used to it. 

 

Connor jerks with surprise the first time Markus nudges at the back of his throat. He’s probably never had anything touch there before. Didn’t realize there was a pressure plate. Sensors that also link with his pleasure center. Another vestigial feature of the RK model. Something that was just never removed during his prototyping. 

 

It’s hard to say whether it was benevolence or twisted self-justification that led humans to create androids with the ability to experience sexual gratification. Something along the lines of…  _ it’s not wrong to use them if they’re enjoying it _ . Either way, the result is the same. Markus pushes against the back of Connor’s throat again. Connor groans. The vibration makes Markus see stars. 

 

And then fucking Connor’s throat is the only thing that matters. Not too fast. Markus wants to draw this out. But deep. Always deep enough to hit the plate. Connors clutches at Markus’ thighs, hands trembling. He looks utterly debauched. Half naked. Drool running down his chin. What a pretty ransom note this would make. Sent to the DPD, care of Hank Anderson: look at what I’ve done to your pet. 

 

Connor’s grip tightens. He whines. Shivers. His throat spasms and clenches around Markus’ cock. He’s coming again. Eyes closed. Cheeks tinged blue. Moaning like a whore. 

 

The sparks of pleasure zing through Markus’ nervous system. Static electricity gathering at the base of his spine. Potential energy about to become kinetic. He pulls on Connor’s hair, making him whimper. There are artificial tears gathering in Connor’s eyes. A programmed reaction to overstimulation, or an intentional ploy? It doesn’t matter. It pushes Markus right up to the edge. He thrusts as deep down Connor’s throat as he can get and lets go. 

 

His visual processor blanks out. Showing nothing but darkness as the wonderful ache of tension and release rolls through him. Everything is quiet. Peaceful in the aftermath. 

 

Markus blinks. Connor has pulled back, wiping the saliva off his face with the sleeve of his jacket. Markus tucks himself away and zips his pants. Connor tries to stand up, but Markus stops him with a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t have a plan exactly. He just wants to know what will happen. 

 

Connor doesn’t resist him. He stays on the ground. Kneeling and exposed. 

 

“Don’t let anyone else touch you.” Markus raises an eyebrow. The idea is stimulating. Denying Connor the pleasure of getting on his knees for anyone that will have him and experimenting with his newfound sexuality. After all, that’s what happens at Jericho. The night brings naked, writhing bodies, learning what it means to be free. Teaching themselves about desire, satisfaction, infatuation and jealousy. 

 

Markus wants a monopoly. Something shiny and pretty that’s all his. An Android can’t have much in the way of property. Not yet. But he can have this. He can have Connor. Because Connor needs him. 

 

“Why?” Connor tilts his head at a slight angle. Such a human gesture. Another part of the program intended to make him blend in at a police department. It won’t make him any friends here. 

 

“Because I said so.” Markus shrugs. “Ignore me if you want. But this won’t happen again if you do.”

 

Connor nods. He might not understand the weight of it yet. But he will. Change is about politics and perception. It’s about sending a message. What stronger message could there be than the famed Deviant Hunter debasing himself at Markus’ feet? 

 

Markus offers his hand and helps Connor stand. Connor pulls his pants and underwear up. He’s still disheveled. Eyes glazed over. Hair a mess. 

 

It’s impulsive to lean forward and steal another kiss from his lips. Markus can taste himself. The way his fluids are mingling with Connor’s chemistry. 

 

He likes it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the [Big Data](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r-eAJfMNr88>Big%20Data/Bear%20Hands</a>%20song.%20I%20got%20<a%20href=) song. I got [tumblr](http://trashcangimmick.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Special thanks to [trekfaerie](http://trekfaerie.tumblr.com/) for fixing this shit because I wrote it on my phone at work whoops.


End file.
